


Fall to Pieces

by anr



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-12
Updated: 2006-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're both probably in shock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall to Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: phrenitis and amatia
> 
> Request: formal attire/dress uniforms and the end of the Atlantis expedition.

"Once upon a time," he says.

He forgets the rest.

  


* * *

  


It doesn't, and on Earth they give him a medal. Two medals. Three, and a promotion. _You've made us proud, Colonel_ , they say. _You did well_.

On Earth, he goes to a funeral. Five funerals. Twenty-five, and every casket empty. _She died for her country_ , they say. _He for his_.

On Earth, Elizabeth presses him up against her desk. They're in Moscow, or Prague -- he can't remember which -- and her fingers are digging into his shoulder blades hard enough to hurt. Her soft kiss hurts more.

On Earth.

  


* * *

  


Except that he doesn't, not really, and once upon a time, the wraith came.

The wraith came, and came, and they weren't nearly as prepared as they would have hoped.

"I never thought --" Elizabeth says, when he doesn't continue. He thinks she looks defeated, and when she doesn't finish her sentence either, he knows that she is.

They watch the tower crack in half, the control room, her office -- hell, half the goddamned gate room -- shearing away. He sees sky through the flames, sees the ocean. Something hits the 'jumper hard enough for it to shudder, and he slams them into reverse, into the wormhole behind them before the vibrations can fully fade. He wants to close his eyes and make this nightmare go away.

He can't, and their last glimpse of home is of Atlantis falling, ash and cinders floating about her like snow.

  


* * *

  


He finds her between funerals, again and again. Finds her in France, and her suit is black linen, her shirt pale blue silk. When he runs his fingers down her spine, it's like trailing them through water. She kisses him and he tastes coffee. Coffee, and thyme, and brandy, and he's probably not meant to have noticed that last one.

Fifteen European capitals so far, and he's learning to hate them all. Hates the long flights from the States, and the language barriers that are nowhere near alien enough. Hates the constant presence of his dress uniform, and the way he plays on his rank and apparent hero status, because these are the quickest ways into each Embassy.

Hates that no matter how many times he finds her, she's never quite the woman he remembers.

  


* * *

  


Their trip through the wormhole is extreme, even by his standards. Elizabeth is tossed from her chair after three spins; he from his after the fifth lurch. In the moments before they enter the Midway Station, he blacks out completely, and by the time he's with it again, Elizabeth has thrown up. Twice.

She's breathing, though, which is all he cares about. Leaving her on the floor, he gets to his chair and focuses on the readouts. Life support, okay. Shields, holding. Power --

 _Power_ \--

He wills the falling levels to hold; hopes and prays and wants so hard he forgets to breathe.

It's not enough.

  


* * *

  


Medical leave, stress leave, personal leave -- he runs the gamut, and loses. The Air Force clears him for low risk missions eventually, which means nothing off world. They send him to Baghdad, Jericho, Tehran, and the only thing that stops him from walking away is the fact that, geographically speaking, he's closer to her now.

"They're sending me to New York," she says in Greece. They're two blocks from the Embassy; returning from what's either a very late lunch, or somewhat early dinner. "I've been nominated to the post of US Ambassador for the United Nations."

He stops walking, and tugs on her hand. Pulls her in close. "Congratulations."

"Thank you."

He kisses her, and she kisses him back, and he thinks about how his forty-eight hour pass is only good for another five. He wonders how late his CO in Turkey will let him be before declaring him AWOL. They should probably celebrate.

She pulls away too soon. "It means I won't have time for a relationship," she says. "Time for this." When she gestures between them, he notices her hands are shaking.

"Elizabeth --"

She cuts him off. " _We_ won't have time."

She's wrong. It's starting to rain, and he can taste her on his lips, and she's wrong, maybe lying, and they both know it. They have all the time in this world.

He watches her walk away.

  


* * *

  


Elizabeth has burns down her right arm, and he's cracked two -- maybe three -- ribs. They're both probably in shock.

The puddlejumper's subsisting on emergency power only, and not very well at that. They have no shields, no communications, no sublight engines or thruster capability, and every type of reboot he can think of has failed.

They have food and water, weapons and first aid, but in approximately twelve hours, they won't have air.

He bandages Elizabeth's arm, and reroutes whatever he can to life support. Ahead of them, the Milky Way Stargate beckons, but he has no way to dial Earth, or even shift the 'jumper close enough to pass through the event horizon. He hopes the other 'jumpers made it.

Elizabeth moves into the cargo hold, and sits down on the floor. Rests her arms on her knees, and bows her head.

He turns out the lights.

  


* * *

  


He spends spring in Jakarta, summer in East Timor.

In August, in a cafe on the outskirts of Dili, he catches the last five seconds of a news broadcast. Sees Elizabeth standing next to the President, and it's the first time he's seen her in six months or more. He thinks she looked tired.

Then his Captain calls for him, and a shot echoes in the street, and the next thing he knows it's three weeks later, and he's walking into Dover AFB with his arm in a sling. He's brought back two men with him, Lieutenants both, and phrases from the condolence letters he composed for their families on the flight keep replaying over and over in his head -- _you can be proud of him; he died for his country; he did well; fullstop, new paragraph, he did well and he died, he died_ \--

"John."

\-- _he died_. He turns slowly, and looks at a memory. "Elizabeth?" He was right -- she does look tired. Tired, and alive, and close enough to touch. "What are you --?"

She's already walking towards him. "I just -- I had to --" Her hand reaches out and brushes his sleeve, his shoulder. Smoothes over the ribbons on his coat and rests there. "I --"

He kisses her. Kisses her and thinks, _you are real, you are here, you are everything_. He pulls back. Role reversal. "How long can you stay?"

She doesn't answer.

  


* * *

  


Elizabeth's lips are slowly turning blue. Soon their breath will start to mist.

He tries to calculate how long the oxygen will last. Factors in his sidearm, and knows even a single bullet will improve her chances.

Her hand finds his in the dark, fingers curling around his. Despite himself, he holds on tight.

  


* * *

  


She takes him to a hotel, and it's like the last seven months never happened.

He moves to touch her, and the pain in his arm reminds him that it did.

"Why?"

She sits up, and looks away. Says nothing for the longest time. "We lost our city, John. Our home. Watched it fall to pieces. I didn't -- I _don't_ want to watch us do the same."

"Neither do I." He stares at the ceiling. "I'm retiring."

"I resigned." He looks at her, and she turns to face him. "Last month. Georgetown's agreed to give me back my poli-sci class."

He almost says, _congratulations_ , but thinks better of it. Things didn't go so well the last time he said that. "Marry me?"

She stares at him. Stares at him, and doesn't say a word, and he knows she loves him -- remembers her whispering it, a dozen embassies ago, when she thought he was asleep -- but maybe, maybe...

"Why?"

A thousand reasons. A hundred thousand. He picks one, and hopes it covers them all. "Because if I could -- if it were possible -- I would take you home."

She smiles. For the first time since Caldwell rescued them from Midway, she _smiles_ , and he sees the woman he remembers, sees a future.

"Okay."

  


* * *

  


"How does it end?"

"Hmm?" He can't stop looking at the darkened control console; can't stop thinking about the last time he activated the HUD and saw that the scrubbers were functioning at less than five percent. In another hour, maybe two, they'll be dead. He yawns.

She shifts a little, and her head finds his shoulder. "What you said. Before. The story." She yawns. "Once upon a time?"

He frowns, and almost asks, _what story?_ because he doesn't want to remember what he was thinking thirty seconds ago, let alone when the world ended. His chest hurts -- probably his ribs.

"John?"

She has pressed herself closer, and her fading warmth is a bittersweet comfort. His cheek brushes the top of her head, once, twice. He exhales slowly.

"It just does."

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/262605.html>


End file.
